


Escape Route

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Rescue, Shaw's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Machine has to rescue John from Samaritan. </p><p>Sometimes you needed to prove to the world that there was more to look forward to than death. Sometimes you needed to tell the world that you would not allow your friend to die if you could help it, that not everything was futile. That the good fight mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape Route

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theragnarokd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=theragnarokd).



> It is now Christmas vacation. Hurray!

When Shaw had been a pre-med student, taking an English Lit course mostly because it looked like a piece of cake and would look good when it came to having diverse classes, the professor had stood up from behind her desk and started writing on the board with a blue marker. The class was tiny and at nine in the morning, but the professor did not seem to mind.  
Shaw, who had been organizing the books in her backpack and eating an granola bar had not found this out of the ordinary until she had seen the huge list of books and films the teacher had written down on the board in a matter of seconds and was now looking straight at the person next to Shaw, a young man who looked alarmed at the sudden attention.  
“Can anyone tell me what all of these novels, series and films have in common? Anyone?” asked the professor, who, in Shaw’s memory, looks like what Finch would look like if he had been born female and liked floral patterns more than he did.  
The silence in the small classroom was awkward.  
“They defeat the bad guy, kill the monster or save someone in the end,” Shaw answered, her mouth half-full of chocolate and raspberry granola bar, “the endings are all kinda happy.”  
“Yes,” said “even if they have to make sacrifices, they do their best to do what needs to be done. In the end, even if it takes them blood and sweat and tears, they emerge victorious. And by doing so, they prove to the world that we do not live in vain and that there is hope even when you are certain all is lost.”

Shaw could not help thinking about this as she broke open the door of this apparently abandoned building at the edge of the city. From the outside, it looked like a run-down warehouse, but she knew that John was in there as well as far too many Samaritan agents.  
Sometimes you needed to prove to the world that there was more to look forward to than death. Sometimes you needed to tell the world that you would not allow your friend to die if you could help it, that not everything was futile. That the good fight mattered.  
Finch was standing beside her, not talking at all. Root had once told her that Harold had been willing to blow up a prison to get John out, and she had never really believed it until that moment, when she saw the look in his eyes.

The Samaritan agents weren‘t torturing John Reese, at least not at the moment, she thought as they all entered the building. It was the only thing that Shaw was certain of as Team Machine hurried towards the room where John was kept prisoner with the sort of certainty that he was in there that could only be provided by ironclad intel. There was no sound of gunfire, or the sound of hard breathing or any kind of torture tool that so many organizations favored. Not that John could not handle torture, Shaw thought. Shaw was distantly pleased that she had her emergency medical kit with her, just in case. There were not tell-tale signs of any kind of pain at all, and that made her suspicious. She looked at Fusco, who was narrowing his eyes, his hand on the gun at his belt.  
But she had never seen Harold like this before. She’d never seen him at the end of his rope like this. He had, as far as she understood it, sat down at his computer station and hacked his way through absolutely everything until he had found some good clues about Reese’s whereabouts. When Leon had shown up with his own laptop and had peeked over Harold’s shoulder to see what he was doing, Leon had stopped breathing for a few seconds, taking it all in. 

Then Leon had walked over to Shaw herself, after putting his laptop bag down and leaned towards her in a confidential manner, asking her if someone had taken John away. When she had nodded, Leon had announced that he would man the fort and sat down on one of the old chairs.  
They had left their hideout a few minutes later, Harold speaking in short sentences that he seemed to spit out more than anything, his voice oddly free of emotion, but his eyes burning with rage. His accent wavered between states, jumping from one state to the next. Farmland to the city and back again.

People underestimated Harold, Shaw knew as she saw it happen every day, and that was what gave their little team one of their advantages, she thought as their pace slowed, listening to faint sounds, like footsteps on a carpet or someone breathing. No one suspected Harold of being able to do much harm, this short man who often looked like an accountant. Like someone’s favorite uncle, who was bookish and had a nice smile.

Root raised her phone to the sky, on speaker, having found and hacked into the phone of one of the Samaritan mooks. The slight crackle felt like the sound of thunder in the quiet hallway as they continued walking.  
“You want us to do that to a trained agent like him? Someone asked, clearly baffled. “I’m not gonna do it. Especially not this guy, I’ve seen him around the city and he isn’t alone-“said another voice from within the phone. Shaw heard a small sound behind her and turned slightly.  
Harold was limping a few steps behind her, his eyes gleaming and the expression on his face grim and desperate and far more terrifying than she would ever have thought he could look like, this meek-looking small man in his fancy suits. He had become eerily silent and something in his movements spoke of calculated precision. Harold had always been a careful man, Shaw mused.  
“They’ll come after him,” said yet another voice, edged with fear, from the phone, “the little, prim man with the glasses will show up. And this guy we have here tore the city apart so many times to get the short man back. I’ve heard stories about him, about them. We should step off. The other one will totally do the same, you idiot-“

Team Machine continued walking towards the source of the voices. Even Bear was with them, panting excitedly and sniffing the floor. He had been the one who had ultimately lead them to Reese, as any high-tech prodding besides whatever Harold had done would have alerted Samaritan.  
These men who held Reese were low ranked, Shaw thought, far too low ranked to have been able to do much damage. But the members of Samaritan that would be a threat were undoubtedly on their way. Despite their carefulness. Despite everything.

Samaritan had not expected Reese to be anything else than a useful tool, Shaw thought as they reached the room where Reese was kept. That was just one of their mistakes.  
“You are acting like this is some sort of a love story-“shouted a man, clearly one of the higher ups of those in there, not listening as the men around him froze, looking at the door.  
She could see the change in Harold‘s posture at the corner of her eye, as Fusco kicked the door open and they charged, leaving Harold behind.  
They managed to shoot a couple of kneecaps and knock out several men who approached them with guns aimed at their heads. A few seconds passed after those had been taken care of, leaving utter silence. Shaw saw that almost every single Samaritan agent was looking at Harold, who walked slowly across the room with a truly fearsome expression, heading for Reese, who had been tied down and was unconscious.

The small group of Samaritan agents, only four men, inside the room which had not been attacked did not move, seemingly glued to the floor. Most of them appeared to be holding their breath. They looked terrified, and some of them were even clearly considering backing away from both Harold and the rest of Team Machine.  
Shaw helped Fusco inspect Reese, who would have bruises and his ribs were clearly not in the best condition, but a few days of rest would do him good. Then they carried him out of the room as fast as they possibly could, and Shaw did not bother to listen the techno-babble between Harold and Root, but she knew that they were devising something to be able to put these agents away for a long time, using the info they had found on the mook’s phone.  
Harold’s breathing was shallow, and he was walking as fast as he could so that he could stay beside Reese at all times. If his hand lingered on the fabric of John’s torn jacket, Shaw decided not to mention it. She knew what hope looked like, and Finch’s eyes were slightly damp as he looked at Reese.

Shaw stole the nearest fast-looking car, and got into the driver’s seat before anyone else could. Fusco was opening the medical kit already, cleaning the cuts on John’s hands and talking to Harold, who was clearly not listening to him, preoccupied with trying to wake John. Harold’s hands were shaking, and she could see his whole body slumping with relief when John opened his eyes and squeezed Harold’s hand. Root was humming happily in her seat at the front, clearly happy with a job well done.  
They drove on into the night.


End file.
